


The Secret

by suliswrites



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cane-play, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fantasy Degradation Kink, Fantasy Race-play, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, POV Lucius Malfoy, Pet Names, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Romance, Smut, Spanking, light dom Lucius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23804440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliswrites/pseuds/suliswrites
Summary: Hermione shares a secret fantasy with Lucius.Shameless filth with a side of romance. Lucius’ POV.A gift for the lovely Minervas_Revenge, based on the prompt: “Tell me a secret.”
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Lucius Malfoy
Comments: 58
Kudos: 354
Collections: Good Girl Hermione





	The Secret

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Minervas_Revenge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minervas_Revenge/gifts).



> Well, Readers, here's both the filthiest and perhaps the most romantic thing I've ever written. 
> 
> What started as a drabble gift, turned into this beast. Based on the prompt: “Tell me a secret.” 
> 
> Huge thanks and love to my dear beta, [ketos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ketos/profile), for all her help. 
> 
> Please read and heed the tags. If you feel up to it, your reviews/kudos/bookmarks make my day! 
> 
> Enjoy.  
> -suliswrites

. . .

The sun was rising, beaming stripes across the room through gaps in the velvet curtains. All stood quiet but for two sets of breaths.

Lucius savored the burning satisfaction of recently exerted muscles still buzzing through him. ‘Blissfully contented’ was not a sensation he was used to. He’d never anticipated its peace to grace him again in this life, but then, he hadn’t anticipated any number of things - foremost among them _her._

8 months of her brilliance he’d had now. The gift of it. Sleeping with her curled against him under the crook of his arm. Sharing a single snifter of whiskey by the fire as he read over her shoulder. Debating philosophical concepts till the passion of their arguments required an urgent, erotic release on the nearest surface. Dancing together at public events, indecently close, in full, unabashed provocation of their naysayers. And all the quiet moments like this.

Fine silk sheets clung over the curves of their bodies. Everything but the bed beneath them seemed a world away, and he meant to keep it that way for as long as possible.

He watched her. The rise and fall of her breath, the slight movement of those chestnut curls draped over her face.

She was tangled up with him, trapping the outstretched arm that lay beneath the delicate curve of her neck. That wild mane of hair.

It frizzed into splendid chaos after, every time he fucked her in the shower.

He loved that frizzed chaos as a reminder of taking her under the streaming water, against the marble. Loved how it clung to her arching back. Loved the dark, spindling curves it drew over her shoulders when it was wet. Sometimes, a man possessed, he traced them with his tongue.

Steam enveloping, in their own little world.

Most of all, he worshiped the feel of those curls when he took them in his hands, when he twisted them into a lead and drew it to him, extending the arch of her spine as he jerked it back in leverage to his thrusts. Never gently. She had told him she didn’t want him to be. Gods, how she let him _take_ her.

Lucius loved how she let him dominate her so completely. Let him hold her delicate throat just so as he had his way with her. Let him whisper filthy, possessive things in her ear as she unraveled for him.

The _sounds_ he could pry from that witch’s glorious mouth.

She trusted him, he’d realized.

After everything. The long months he’d spent devotedly pursuing her. The strange, winding path that had brought them together. She trusted him to not hurt her, even when he let nearly every inhibition go and gave her the brutal fucking they both craved.

She was his now. A vehement pride swelled in him at the thought.

His. This magnificent creature. She’d given herself to him, body and heart.

And yet...

There was still so much of her he didn’t get to have.

The thought had begun to drive him mad. Not knowing her thoughts, not knowing the innermost secrets she held as treasure to her soul. Hidden from the world, from all but her own mind. Hidden from him.

Once, early on, he’d considered attempting Legilimency on her as she slept. Perusing the files of that exquisitely fastidious and organized mind until he found the one on him, to spend all night rifling through every thought and feeling she had of him. He was talented enough at the art, he could achieve it without her feeling a thing.

But something disturbingly similar to a conscience had held him firmly back. Care for another being had held him back from something he _damn well_ desired.

His Father had practically cast Crucio on him from the grave. He could hear him then: _“Malfoys do not settle for anything less than precisely that which they desire.”_

And chasing straight after it, his boyhood voice in obedient answer: _“Yes, Father.”_

The man as he was now had found the principle a slight more complicated to follow.

He desired all of her yes, but he desired her trust most of all.

And a prize such as that, if truly won, required the sacrifice of old ways of doing things.

Changing him already.

He knew that, of course. He’d already been irrevocably changed by her a hundred times. Sometimes he barely recognized his own thoughts. But all the new ones, clear and bright, made him think of her, and so he welcomed them. He welcomed each one like new tenants who would care for the precious land they inherited far better than those who had come before.

 _Better,_ was the word he kept finding in his thoughts. I _feel_ _better._ I can _be_ better. I _will_ be better.

Did she have any idea what she’d done?

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Hello.”

She returned it, spearing him through what was supposed to be his dead, immovable heart.

“Hello yourself.”

There was nothing to be done for it. He had little choice but to irrefutably resign himself to that dangerous word - _Love._ Salazar save him.

He gently withdrew his arm from beneath her, propping himself up on his elbow, lifting his other hand to brush the curls from her eyes. “Did you dream?”

At his touch she gave into a feline stretch, closing her eyes and nodding absently with a murmured, “Mm.”

His little lioness.

“What about?”

She opened one eye with a playful peek, “None of your business.”

Something enthralled and predatory flared in him. He pushed her onto her back, quickly trapping her beneath him between his arms. She laughed; how she loved to tease him, the hellcat.

“Let’s make it mine, shall we?”

Her teeth dragged over the perfect swell of her bottom lip. Those amber eyes narrowed, glinting with sprightly mischief.

“Would it stroke your absurdly large ego too much if I told you it was about you?”

He couldn’t stop the smirk of satisfaction that brought him. Lucius leaned down languidly, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “I’m afraid so. But don’t let that stop you.”

A grin broke out across her face. Placing her hands on his chest, she shoved him back, flipping them in one fluid motion to straddle his waist. The sheet fell away, revealing her delectable form completely to him. She watched his eyes track hungrily over her for a moment before speaking. “Admittedly a fault of mine: giving into you. I enjoy your peacocking mating displays too much for my own good.” She ran her fingers over the sculpted plane of his chest. “They’re rather hard to resist.”

Lucius quirked an amused brow at that. He wasn’t sure how he felt about his behavior being thought of as some primal male dance in pursuit of copulation (though he was quite fond of peacocks.) And every impulse he had these days seemed to stem from the single-minded drive to court and keep her, _copulation_ included.

He ran his hands up the warm, creamy thighs astride him. “Luckily for me you wish to submit.”

She linked her hands with his, smiling, tangling their fingers together. “You? Did you dream?”

_Flowers in her hair. Candles in the thousands, levitating through the dusk gardens, the flickering glow dancing over her face. Their clasped hands bound in ritual. Placing his mother’s ring on her finger._

Lucius gave her a genuine but guarded smile, swallowing back the immense wave of vulnerability that had suddenly crashed over him. “Of you,” he answered softly.

Her smile drifted away, replaced by a humorless recognition and acceptance of pure _feeling,_ the same vulnerability he felt inside showing so blatantly in her expression. She was such an open book.

They held each other's eye silently for a moment before she slipped off of him to his side, nuzzling her cheek into the curve of his neck. He wrapped his arm tightly around her, feeling somewhat overcome by the new lack of control he had over his own heart.

More of her. All of her.

“Tell me a secret,” he said. “One of your secrets.”

She pulled back, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why don’t you tell _me_ a secret, Lucius. Yours will fetch a higher bidder.”

Gods, he loved her. He damn well loved her.

“It's a given that I have secrets,” he trailed a finger down the curve of her waist, looking forward to the flare of lust he would see in her eyes at his next remark. “You, however, are such a good girl.”

The flare rose. Those two little words an unfailing aphrodisiac with her.

“Am I?” she asked, a provocative challenge, a slight flush painting her cheeks.

Lucius nodded slowly. “Oh yes. Which makes your secrets undoubtedly more interesting.”

She tilted her head with a frown. “Well, sorry to disappoint. I don’t have any.”

He continued to teasingly caress her, extending the trail of his fingers over her hip. “Surely _some_ shameful indiscretion comes to mind…”

She shifted her gaze to the mattress between them, thinking, when the thought of something struck like lightning, her cheeks immediately blushing a vibrant crimson at the mere memory.

Now _this_ was a secret Lucius very much wanted to know.

Caught, Hermione turned over quickly, burying her face in the silk pillowcase.

He grinned, arching a brow. “My, my...”

Muffled protests sounded behind the mass of riotous curls. “No. Nope. Not telling you that.” She turned back over with a mortified but playful smile. “You’d have to use veritaserum to get that one out of me. Or further still, the Imperius.”

“That can be arranged.”

Hermione threw her pillow at him, laughing. Lucius dodged it gracefully.

He’d only been half joking.

“No matter,” he drew closer to her, taking her chin between his forefinger and thumb, “With you I’ve found there are other, wonderfully effective methods for extracting information.”

“Arrogant arse,” she huffed, though her eyes fell hopefully to his lips.

He descended, claiming her in a deep, unhurried kiss.

Lucius knew how to undo her in seconds, how to tease his tongue in the slow dance she loved, how to churn her desire like a building tempest till she ached for him, wet and wanting.

He felt his witch melt beneath him with a sigh. She tried to deepen the kiss but he drew back with a knowing look, point made. “Truth does not equate to arrogance, my dear.”

She nearly groaned in frustration at the halted euphoria, her nipples now hardened and flushed, beautiful peaks that begged for him to take them in his mouth.

“It doesn't exclude it either,” she replied, giving him a baleful glare.

He smiled, satisfied as the devil, knowing she would give him what he wanted now, in return for what she craved.

Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek, looking him up and down with a wry shake of her head, as though she couldn’t believe the things he was able to get her to do.

Her vice. Lucius found that he treasured that title more than he did the very rank of ‘Lord Malfoy.’ Though, the few times Hermione had called him ‘Lord Malfoy’ in jest had given him an erotic thrill that nearly made him lose himself in his trousers like some inexperienced schoolboy.

Pulling the sheet to her, Hermione worked it with her fingers as nerves began to quicken her breaths. She placed every focus on the fine stitching of the hem as she tried to find words.

She actually gulped, the sweet innocent. How devious this hidden gem must be.

“When I was a teenager,” she began, staring straight ahead refusing to look at him, “when I was at Hogwarts…”

Lucius waited, restraining himself from lowering his mouth to her throat to kiss the delicate artery that held her thundering pulse.

“I used to -” she stopped, closing her eyes and taking a breath. “Well, I used to fantasize about you. Touch myself... while thinking about you.”

The visual assaulted him instantly -

This ripe flower, driven to forbidden fantasy, her hand working frantically beneath the golden and burgundy plaid of her uniform skirt with an illicit gasp of his name.

It was a revelation. Torrid lust shot through every inch of him.

 _“Is that so?”_ he managed to ask.

Hermione nodded, eyes still scrunched closed, pulling the sheet over her head.

Lucius slowly tugged the sheet back down. “Gryffindor’s Head Girl… in the dark of her dormitory… picturing a Death Eater having his wicked way with her? A married Death Eater, at that.”

She peeked her eyes open. “It sounds so much more terrible when you say it.”

“Oh but it _is_ terrible,” he said, a grave whisper. “ _Obscene._ ”

The deliciously drawn out word caught her attention, and all at once she recognized the carnal hunger burning in his eyes.

The change in her expression, caught like a doe in the woods, was exquisite. She looked almost shocked. Had her shame at this secret been so great, so deeply held, that she truly hadn’t anticipated what utter rapture such a divulgence would be to him? It was a delight beyond measure. He was more bewitched by her than ever.

Lucius grinned, pinning her with a look of such brazen, predatory desire that she shivered in response. Hermione stilled under his spell, lips parting as her eyes fell, tracking down. At the sight of his erection her tongue flitted out to wet her lips.

He angled closer, eyes darkening. “What sinful depravity, Ms. Granger, to have harbored within you all these years.” He played the decorous pureblood for a moment. “Shocking. Such vulgar behavior, and at the height of war -”

“Alright, alright, subject closed,” she admonished, trying to hide her growing smile. “Now you know. And you are never to repeat that to another living soul, do you hear me?” She tried to give him a suitably threatening glare. All Lucius could focus on was her beautiful skin, still flooded with that enticing, rosy pink.

He held her eye, raising a hand to her breast, rolling the stiff bud of her nipple between his fingers, savoring her gasp. “But my dear you’ve merely given me the frame of such a masterpiece. I desire knowledge of every brushstroke…”

She trembled under his touch. _“Lucius...”_

“What terribly indecent things did you picture me doing to you, mm?”

“Well I…” Hermione trailed off with a sigh as his soft caresses continued, alternating his teasing between both breasts.

“Yes?” he prompted.

Her back arched, seeking more from him, her voice a string of shaky breaths. “I… I didn’t fantasize about you capturing me, no torture or anything like that. I just…” she whimpered, “I just...” He nodded slowly, prompting her to continue, hand leaving her breasts to trail a lazy line up the inside of her thigh.

She practically cooed for him, having to work to form the words, eyes fluttering closed. “I wanted you to be... so taken with me, that you couldn’t help yourself,” her thighs spread open for him in desperate invitation, “I wanted you to... desire someone like _me,_ so completely… that you lost all control of yourself…”

His hand stopped it’s path upward, leaving her. Hermione opened her eyes to look at him.

Lucius tilted her face up, running this thumb over her cheek. “I’d say you got that wish.”

She smiled; warmth and truth and promise and more of _home_ than Lucius had ever known.

An idea, bright and thrilling, suddenly blazed to life in her eyes.

“Were you lying when you told me months ago about that room?” she asked, “A sort of Room of Requirement within the manor?”

“I never lie when trying to impress you. Though, it does not _interpret_ your needs so much as answer your direct thoughts. A far more reliable system than Hogwarts’ fickle counterpart.”

Hermione took hold of his hand. “Take me there. Now.”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow. “Eager, are we?”

She squeezed his hand, all her Gryffindor daring shining in her eyes. “Very.”

“As you wish.”

The swirling pop of apparition enveloped them.

. . .

The infinity room was a perfect blank of empty, endless black. A void, apart from their naked forms, which stood stark and beautiful against the nothingness. Like some muggle surrealist painting, Lucius thought.

Hermione released his hand with a gasp, taking a few steps forward into the darkness, reaching her hand out as if she could touch the velvet, waiting nothingness.

She glanced back at him, the thrilling question in her eyes.

“You need but think it.” he smiled, wondering what she would create given every choice. His mind was already envisioning a thousand possibilities. Hermione opened her eyes again, smiling excitedly.

Her love of magic was infectious; it made Lucius appreciate it in a way he never had. He admired the raw thrill in her eyes as she stared out into the black with thoughtful determination.

The first sight to bloom into being was the stone beneath their feet. Familiar to him somehow. Then walls, narrow, filling by the second with books, lit only by the fire of distant sconces. Next fabric, spooling out from thin air, wrapping itself around their bodies to stitch and drape.

The old imposing, dark robes over him. The ornate silver serpent pins. The structured, black boots that shined.

And on her, the uniform of Gryffindor’s Head Girl. Plaid skirt, knee-high socks, the striped tie tucking into a crisp white button-down beneath the grey cardigan.

Lucius watched with fascination as a perfect copy of the restricted section of Hogwarts’ Library unfurled around them. Her fantasy, come to life.

She was grinning before him, wide-eyed and looking almost overwhelmed with delight. Magic itself, at the height of its glory, was extremely arousing to her, he’d discovered. The hunger she had for it. How many times he’d seduced her with a showing of it’s most rare and forbidden incarnations, he’d lost count.

Shadows hung about the bookshelves they now found themselves standing between.

Hermione looked extremely pleased with herself, taking a step back to lean leisurely against the shelf, her hands resting on the edge behind her at her lower back as she arched her spine and pushed out her breasts; the perfect position to torment him with her figure in that form fitting cardigan. Lucius would be lying if he said he’d never dreamt of fucking her in that uniform, of reducing the prim Head Girl to a dripping, moaning mess of need.

He followed her coy gaze down to his hand, watching as sleek, black wood sprung from the very air, shooting out in a line down to the floor, ending under his palm in familiar silver. Emerald eyes glinted up at him.

It had been too long. A rush of power rang through him, sentimental in its familiarity. Years he’d been without this constant companion. He had forgone replacing it after the war, opting for a less ostentatious wand as he attempted to humble himself back into the Wizarding World’s good graces.

Lucius thumbed the cool, hard metal slowly, a smirk spreading as he felt the ridge of each scale. When he met her eye she looked almost painfully aroused. “Fond of that were you?” he asked.

“You’ve no idea,” she answered, breathlessly. Her skin was practically humming with excitement. “Have you missed it?” she asked.

She had a way of drawing every hidden vulnerability from him. “Terribly.”

Taking her in, measuring her reactions, he saw her gaze drift down to the cane in his hand once more, her lips slightly parted.

So she wants to play at _this_ , does she…

In an instant, Lucius shifted his entire body language - stiffening his frame, taking on his most imposing bearing, every element of the old perfected mask, down to the contemptuous glare he knew she wanted of him.

Hermione was still looking down, admiring the intricate handiwork of her imagination. In a voice that chilled the very air, he gave her no doubt that they had begun.

_“Ms. Granger.”_

Hermione’s eyes snapped to his, cheeks blushing back to that delightful hue; so affected that she actually gave a slight shudder. He’d almost forgotten how enjoyable this was.

“What do we have here? If I’m not mistaken it is against the rules to be in the library after hours. And in the restricted section no less. A Head Girl knows better.”

She took on her old mask just as easily, jutting her sweet chin up at him with defiant pride. “And you, Mr. Malfoy. The Board of Governors meeting ended hours ago. What are _you_ doing, sneaking around the school at night?”

“Quite the insolent little thing, aren’t you. Questioning authority.” Lucius took a slow step towards her, savoring the way she pressed herself further back against the shelf. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “And so very prone to getting yourself into trouble.”

Fire and contempt in her stare. “I’ll report you to the Headmaster, _Malfoy.”_

In one lightning-quick movement he whipped the end of his cane into the space between her feet, a shocking crack against the bookshelf. She jumped, legs jolting apart to avoid impact. The shock had set her trembling.

Lucius held it there, his predatory gaze never leaving hers. He tutted a reprimand under his breath. _“Tone,_ Ms. Granger.”

Gods, she was responsive. The look of anticipation in her radiant eyes.

“I am your superior. You will address me as such.” A command.

He let his eyes fall back to the tip of his cane still held between her feet. “As to your threat, you’ve an indiscretion or two yourself that I imagine the Headmaster would love to hear about.”

Her beautiful mouth opened with an indignant question. “What ar _—_ ”

“I’ve seen the way you stare at me, Ms. Granger.” The tip of his cane dragged it’s way up the inside of her ankle. “Highly improper.”

He heard her breath hitch.

“Is this what you’ve wanted?”

She’d been rendered speechless, frozen still. Lucius’ eyes never left hers as he continued to run the hard wood slowly up the inside of her leg.

It disappeared under her plaid skirt, lifting the fabric to drape over it. When he reached the apex of her thighs he pressed it hard into the bookcase behind her, an immoveable pole angled just so against her sex.

She had no other way to move, and there was no question of the instruction in his stare.

Hermione held his gaze, releasing a shaky breath as she shifted her hips infinitesimally forward, rubbing herself down upon the hard wood. The pressure of it sent lust rushing into her eyes.

“I asked you a question,” he warned.

Her teeth sunk down into her lip. She gave another grind against the cane. “Y _—_ yes.”

Lucius arched a pale brow.

 _“— Sir,”_ she finished quickly. So obedient.

“Well then.”

A few innocent blinks up at him, as though he were corrupting her. The minx knew how to play this scene to his liking.

Hermione began to ride it in earnest, rolling her hips, working her clit against the punishingly rigid wood.

There had to be pain mixed with that pleasure, pain that Lucius knew she sought and adored.

He’d been ever so surprised, the first time she admitted to sharing such proclivities. Surprised and delighted. Pain and pleasure were, for him, a pendulum, the extremes of both sensations only building momentum to swing back even more forcefully into the next.

Whines began to fight their way loose of her mouth. Lucius’ own breaths grew ragged just watching. His eyes darkened to blue obsidian, feasting on her self-gratification.

“That’s it, show me how much you’ve wanted it.”

She bucked forward, hard, a pained frenzy in her expression.

It was the most decadent ecstasy he’d ever seen. His witch, dressed in school uniform, getting herself off on his cane. Brim full of her desire like some wanton Whore of Babylon.

“Look at you,” he breathed, transfixed. “You can barely control yourself.” Hoarse words, deep in his throat.

She was getting close, agonizingly close; her movements frantic, desperate. She braced her hands, white-knuckled, against the shelf behind her. Lucius fought the impulse to reach out and tease her breasts, instead clenching his own hand tighter around the silver snake-headed handle, determined to see her bring herself to shattering orgasm by the cane alone.

Lucius angled the cane higher, pressing it harder against her cunt, earning a shameless moan.

 _”Take it,_ girl.”

At his words she chased her release feverishly. Holding his eye, her mouth fell open as she bucked with abandon.

It was a sight to behold. How could someone be so perfectly virtuous and yet so deliciously depraved. He thanked the ever-loving Gods for such perfection.

When the orgasm tore its way through her, she surrendered, giving fully to its knee-buckling convulsion. She held his eye through every second, her hand jolting out to grasp the cane between them, holding onto it for dear life. Her lips open in a silent scream.

Finally it ebbed, releasing her, a sigh exhaling her into a boneless, panting wreck.

Hermione was never more beautiful to him than in those moments, when she was breathless, blood rushing pleasure through her every cell because of him.

His mind reeled in choosing which way to undo her next. Which way to wrench an even more devastated moan of rapture from that mouth. This was her secret, teenage fantasy; there were endless courses he could take within it. She certainly seemed to enjoy playing the naughty student.

A sudden idea had him throbbing with excitement: did her love of reward extended to love of punishment? Would she take his discipline the way she took to his praise?

Lucius drew back the cane, watching her slump, spent, against the shelf.

“What a perverse display,” he sneered. “I think...” stepping towards her, he took hold of her throat, feather-light.

He held there, still for a moment, before twining his fingers around her tie to pull it free of her cardigan. One savage pull jerked it tight.

“... the Head Girl needs to be punished for her vulgarity.”

Hermione’s eyes widened a fraction. Lucius waited for an indication of consent.

“Sir?” she asked, false confusion turning up her tone. She _would_ play.

As by leash, he led her by the tie, out into the open room, to the broad, wooden desks that lined the shelves.

Lucius pulled her to stand in front of one, slowly settling behind her, mere inches from her trembling frame.

His lips met the shell of her ear, savoring each whispered word:

“Bend over like a good girl.”

Her cheek was pressed to the deep mahogany in seconds, the most vulnerable of her on display for him.

Two swift kicks with his boot drove her legs apart, open wide.

She arched, as if willing him to fill her.

He wanted to. Badly. But Lucius never had any trouble delaying his satisfaction if it meant teasing her to a sobbing, frenzy of need.

He let her wait. Let her feel the seconds stretch by, untouched.

In the silence he could hear her breathing, see the moisture of it against the desk.

Leisurely he came to her side.

“Do you need to be punished, Ms. Granger?”

“Yes, Sir,” she breathed.

“Yes. Badly, don’t you?” He rested his cane against the edge of the desk.

“So badly, Sir.”

Lucius smiled at the faint whine already evident in her voice.

Taking his time, he caressed the pert globe of her arse. Kneading the flesh beneath the fabric. His touch drawing down closer and closer to her sex. She held her breath.

 _Almost_ giving her the touch she wanted, at the very last moment he drew his hand back, taking the fabric of her skirt with him.

Her breaths quickened.

“Have you been a wanton little thing?” He dragged her knickers down till they were tight at her knees. Cool air woke goosebumps upon her creamy cheeks.

She shivered, sucking in a long inhalation, seeming to savor the suspense for a moment.

_SMACK!_

Lucius' hand came down hard across her bare flesh. The loud crack echoed through the room. Her delicious gasp of shock.

 _“Do not make me wait,”_ he reprimanded, enunciating every word.

“Forgive me, Sir,” she gasped. “I should have answered you.”

Soothing the bright red brand, he indulged her with a deceptively gentle caress, pitching his voice to a soft comfort once more.

“Would you like to earn my forgiveness, my dear?”

An eager nod, trying to crane her neck to look back at him. He mirrored her nod with knowing pity in his eyes, dipping his fingers lower to brush teasingly across her slick entrance.

Hermione bit back a moan.

“Very well. I should like to hear your indiscretions. You will confess them.”

Two long fingers pressed deep inside her.

Her moan was wet and croaking as he felt her clench around him.

Lucius worked her, thrust after lazy thrust.

“Have you been aching for me, sweet girl?”

“Yes, Sir.” A half-whine, half-sigh as she foolishly relaxed into the pleasure.

_SMACK!_

Harder this time. Earning a sharp cry of pain.

Lucius instantly resumed his teasing of her with persistent shallow thrusts of his fingers. The pendulum finally in full swing.

“Do you lie awake at night, playing with yourself, wanting me?”

Curling his fingers. Upping the pace. His other hand pinning her hip firmly to the table.

“Yes, Sir.” Almost a sob.

He drew them out, smearing her silky arousal over the angry handprints branded on her flesh.

“Have you been mine in secret?”

“Yours _—_ All yours.”

 _SMACK!_ Her cry sounded in half pain and half moan.

“Say it again,” he commanded calmly. “What are you?”

_SMACK!_

_“—Yours! —Yours!”_ A mewling chant of an answer.

Lucius’ erection verged on painful. Her voice. Her need. Her submission. He was going to incite her to incoherent longing.

“Louder,” he ordered.

 _SMACK!_ Immediately followed by the return of his thrusting, coaxing fingers.

 _“—Yoursss.”_ She was bucking wildly now. Delirious for it. Lost.

“I said louder.”

 _SMACK!_ The hardest yet. He raised his hand to deliver another —

_“Yours—Your filthy little mudblood!”_

Lucius’ hand froze mid-air.

That word. He hadn’t spoken that word in years. Hadn’t let himself so much as _think_ it.

For it to leave her lips in pleasure _-_ For her to invoke it while they were…

He took a step back from her, shame flooding heavy through his body.

“Hermione.”

This was a line between the present and that past that he didn’t know how to blur.

At her name she turned over slowly to look at him.

His face must have turned ashen, by her expression when she saw him. The fantasy had careened off the tracks. His true, current self was full in him again, irrefutable. He could not reconcile the two into this game. He could not use a word born of hate for a woman that he -

Words caught like cotton in his mouth. An unfamiliar sensation.

“That word,” he began. “I don’t _..._ ”

Lucius held her eye, willing her to know without him having to speak of such things.

Hermione turned fully, sitting on the edge of the desk.

“I know, Lucius. I know that.” She reached for his hand, pulling him back to her, kissing his knuckles. Such tenderness.

Lucius watched as she nuzzled her face into his palm, looking up at him with calm.

They shared a moment in silence like that, nearly all of his tension from the forbidden word melting away under the power of her gentle humanity.

He’d fallen into shame and she’d caught him, instantly, as though it were nothing.

More than anything, in that moment he wanted to drop the fantasy, wanted to be who they each were now, back in his bed, worshiping her _,_ as she was. The incredible woman she was.

But he could see the question, waiting, with hopeful excitement in her eyes. She’d tasted a sip of her forbidden kink and she wanted to drown in it.

“Would you try it? Just once. For me. And if it bothers you, never again,” she asked softly.

Lucius fell prey to her so easily. In seconds the gentle nuzzles of her face against his hand turned to beguiling, forceful caresses of temptation. Her tongue swept out across his open palm.

“That was the heart of my twisted little fantasy, you see,” she murmured, “The biggest secret of it,” looking up at him through long lashes with those covetous eyes. “To have you want me despite your prejudice. To have you take me - _brand_ those words into me - with desire instead of hate.”

What she proposed _did_ entice him. Dangerously so.

He let himself imagine branding forbidden, desirous words into her...

Then the witch slipped his index finger into her hot mouth, pulling it slowly back out through her lips.

Lucius held her eye in silent warning, teeth clenched against the urges he felt.

Playing with fire, little lion...

He feared what he might do to her if he let go now. Feared that in his passion he might be too rough with her. With that single provocative action she had him on the edge of something he hadn’t given to in years. That man. The forbidding Lord of the Manor. The one whose darkness, whose _hungers_ , owned him. The man who didn’t know how to stop.

He may have been dominating with her in their intimacies, but he’d never lost his control. That was the delicate balance: to dominate her to where _she_ felt she could let go of control, but to maintain his own, for her safety. She might trust him, but he didn’t yet trust himself.

Hermione took another of his fingers into her mouth. Sucking it. Working it with her tongue.

Lucius barely recognized his own voice when he spoke, the rough and rasping tone, already so lost to his desire. “You wish for me to call you that?”

“In this fantasy, yes. So very badly.” She drew his wet fingers down over her throat, to the first button of her collar, whispering as though in secret: “I used to dream about you, Lucius. Of you bending me to your will. Fucking me senseless. Calling me your... _filthy little mudblood.”_

He couldn’t deny the arousal it stirred in him. Excruciating arousal. But still he found himself grasping for control; a vice grip at it, his last attempt to remain in charted, trusted territory.

Drawing back his hand from her with a ragged breath, he didn’t miss the glimmer of triumph that passed hopefully through her eyes; gentle but hell-bent on her desire.

“We can always stop,” she said.

Lucius took yet another slow step back from her, holding her eye, wondering just how far would she go to manipulate him towards her aims. He’d all but given in, though by his actions she didn’t yet seem to realize her impending victory.

A new kind of silence held between them.

Hermione’s eyes tracked over him, read his every gesture and breath - analyzing, plotting. He adored her strategic mind. She was the only person he’d ever met who could play him like a fiddle, just as he played everyone else. His worthy adversary, then and now.

A new thought sprang into the light of her eyes.

Smiling to herself a moment, she played her move:

“Please, _Lord Malfoy,”_ she cooed, leaning back slowly on the desk like a damn succubus.

Moving aside her skirt.

Opening her thighs.

Dipping her fingers down to tease unhurried strokes at her glistening slit.

All the while watching him and tracking his every reaction.

His breaths grew heavy in his chest. Lucius began flexing then clenching his fist, an involuntary result of the waiting electric charge she coiled tighter and tighter within him.

“Don’t you secretly yearn for wild little mudbloods like me?” she asked.

A deep groan rumbled in his throat.

Then, with a gasp, the devious minx sunk two fingers full inside her. Pumping them lazily as she watched him. _“Filthy little mudbloods with filthy little cunts?”_

Control vanished.

Lucius was on her before he knew what he was doing, a savage growl leaving him as he spun her around and bent her hard over the desk, pinning her down.

In one yank he loosened the tie from her neck, pulling it overhead. Lucius forced her wrists behind her, so consumed he didn’t even think to use a spell, wrapping the tie tight around them, again and again. The sharp jerk of his knot sent a fresh moan tumbling from her lips.

He thought to take her then and there, to flip her skirt up and drive her into the table, to feel her writhing beneath his punishing thrusts. But something stopped him - he wanted, _needed_ to see her.

Taking hold of the tie bind, he wrenched her back up, a piercing scrape sounding into the room as he kicked a nearby chair open to him.

He seated himself, whipping her around to face him, taking a fist full of her cardigan and pulling her down to straddle his lap. Hermione was breathless, staring at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Balanced over his crotch, her arms bound tight behind, she was completely at his whim.

Lucius shifted her closer against him, letting out a hiss of pleasure as her core rubbed over his still clothed, throbbing erection. He gripped her hip in one hand, the other wrangling the bind around her wrists.

His eyes never left hers as he slowly ground his hips up, working himself against her bare flesh.

Her head tipped back with a tight sigh. _“Please.”_

Begging already.

Lucius kept driving his hips against her in rhythm, watching his quivering witch bob up and down atop him as the friction tormented her. Whimpers fell from her lips with every drag of the fabric across her sopping sex.

 _“Please,_ ” she cried. The plea, pitched high with need, sent an ache straight to his cock.

She had asked, manipulated, begged. He would give it to her.

Lucius forced her still, grip firm at the nape of her neck like she was some unruly animal. Slowly he brought his other hand beneath her skirt, rubbing his thumb into her slick juices before circling it tauntingly around her sweet clit.

Drawing her to him till his lips were hot at her ear, he finally whispered the forbidden.

“Shall I make you scream for me, mudblood?”

The primitive moan that sounded deep in her throat nearly undid him. Every nerve lit with exultant thrill, spurring him further.

“I’d have you stretched to your limit with my pureblood cock.”

He felt her try to regain friction, bucking forward, desperately opening her thighs wider to seat herself further down against him. A rough pull of her curls had her obediently still once more.

”You’d like that wouldn’t you?”

She nodded frantically.

Lucius ran his tongue up the line of her neck, upping the pace of his teasing of her clit.

“Then let’s hear you say it, mudblood,” he whispered, sinking a bite into the tender flesh.

“I want you to make me scream,” she whined, “I want you to fuck me. _Please fuck me.”_

He could wait no longer.

In one swiftly spoken spell he’d released himself. His aching arousal sprang free of his trousers, already weeping for her.

He marked her with a dark look. “I’m going to ride you raw, girl.”

Lucius lifted her quivering frame above him, wasting no time before slamming her down onto his cock, surging to the hilt into her tight, slick heat.

A coarse groan ripped from his throat, bleeding into the sound of her own desperately eager mewl. Sweat broke out over his skin at the ecstasy of it, her perfect grip on him.

 _“Fuck,_ witch. So wet for me.” His voice to his own ear strained, rasping.

He felt possessed by the need to claim her, hard and deep and inexorably.

The position didn’t afford him such dominion. Holding tight to her bound wrists, his other hand swept under her knee, pulling one leg and then the other up to rest by the ankles on the desk behind him. Hermione tipped back, held up only by his arm and grip behind her, thighs now splayed gloriously wide for him.

Her knees were almost at her shoulders as he seized her hip once more, pulling out and plowing back into her full to the hilt.

She cried out, low and guttural, an obscene elixer of a sound.

Something snapped within him - the irresistible compulsion took its ownership.

Lucius set into a steady, thudding pace, grunting with the force of every thrust. There was nothing else, nothing but her sweet, dripping cunt, taking him so perfectly. He was completely lost to the fantasy, drunk on it, growling out each word with every thrust as he pounded into her, again and again.

_“Filthy— Little— Mudblood—”_

The animalistic wailing sound that tore from her was unlike anything he’d ever heard.

He was mindless, lost, repeating the words over and over with every drive of his hips.

He wound his fingers through her curls, pulling them taut like a lead once more, manipulating her movements as he took his pleasure from her, the string of words coming of their own volition, a dam unleashed.

“You love this, don’t you, mudblood? Being fucked like an animal.”

_“Yes—Gods yes—”_

Lucius picked up his speed. The chair screeching against the floor with every pulsing thrust.

Her eyes were glazed with pleasure, jaw slack, curls bouncing wildly.

A quickly murmured spell burst the buttons from her cardigan and shirt, revealing her perfect breasts. Slowing his pace he lowered his mouth, taking in the rosy peak of her nipple and laving it with his tongue.

Hermione moaned desperately, bucking against him, seeking the rhythm again.

“That's my good girl,” Lucius groaned, continuing to assault her nipples. Making her wait. Making her take each slow flick of his tongue, building her to frenzy. Completely at his mercy.

 _“Oh Gods,”_ she whimpered.

Lucius’ own need soared at her euphoric unraveling. A single purpose all-consuming within him: bring her to delirium.

He picked up the speed once more, riding her harder than he ever had. Devotedly hitting that sacred place within her that had her screaming for him. Again and again and again, till her voice was hoarse from the strain of it.

He beckoned her towards the threshold, in absolute worship of her. She was resplendent in her demand for it. Lucius wanted more than anything to descend into it together.

Sensing her just at the brink, he shifted their angle so each thrust ground her clit against him in heavenly friction.

Then he heard her gasp into complete rapture. _“Lucius!”_

His hallowed name from her lips, her clenching grip on him, sent him over the edge.

A savage groan ripped from his throat, bliss whipping it’s drug through him, claiming every nerve. He gave into his pulsing release, erupting inside of her.

They clung to it, savoring and leaning into each aftershock, wave after wave of them.

Dazed, Lucius felt Hermione rest forward against his chest, heaving breaths warm across his neck.

He held her to him, releasing the tie at her wrists, soothing his fingers through her hair as they came down.

The moment his faculties returned to him he compelled the pop of apparition.

They landed, still panting, against the soft embrace of his mattress. Free once more of the room’s spelled clothing.

She’d never looked so wonderfully sated, stretching up her sore arms, smiling at him with hazy eyes.

Lucius pulled her to him, breathing in the scent of the sweat on her skin. They were each other as they were once more.

He held his palm gently over her wrists, healing the angry marks left by the bind. Hermione let out a soft, contented murmur against his chest.

How? How did he ever come to have the honor of being hers?

Because that was the heart of it. That itch in him, so desperate to have all of her, had really been a different desperation: the giving in. The fragile, treacherous exposure. The certainty of knowing _he_ was _hers._

His secret.

Lucius had just been in the position of power, and yet he was the one who felt stripped bare. Vulnerable and risking everything.

She made that a safe thing to be.

“My love,” he breathed against her curls. The first time he’d spoken those words.

Hermione stilled, propping herself up slowly to look at him. There was a questioning smile in her eyes.

Suddenly he felt terror. He’d faced a thousand horrors, even been a few of them, but this perilous moment of confession shook him. His mind raced back to the _word_ he’d said, to the past they’d come from. Shame reared its ugly head.

“You know that I _..._ ” he couldn’t possibly find the words. “Back then, _”_ he forced himself to keep her eye contact. “I was an utter fool.”

Could he ever tell her? “You are…”

Dawning. Dawning after so much night.

Lucius settled for a language he could rely on. He kissed her.

Her lips were so soft against his. Welcoming him. Hearing him.

When they pulled apart he felt bereft at the prospect of moving an inch from her.

Hermione pressed her forehead into his. Holding it there.

His heart was not his own.

His heart was not his own.

He could hear the smile in her whispered affirmation. “I love you too, Lucius.”

. . .


End file.
